Kate knew what he meant by this rather guarded question—had she been to see Mr. Richards?
"No," she said in alarm; "is there anything the matter?"
"I am afraid there is, Miss Kate. I am afraid he is not very well."
"Not very well!" repeated Miss Danton. "Do you mean to say he is ill, Ogden?"
"Yes, Miss Kate, I am afraid he is. He wasn't very well last night, and this morning he is worse. He complains dreadful of headache, and he ain't got no appetite whatsomever. He's been lying down pretty much all day."
"Why did you not tell me sooner?" Kate cried, with a pang of remorse at her own neglect. "I will go to him at once."
She hastened upstairs, and into her brother's rooms. The young man was in the bedroom, lying on the bed, dressed, and in a sort of stupor. As Kate bent over him, and spoke, he opened his eyes, dull and heavy.
"Harry, dear," Kate said, kissing him, "what is the matter? Are you ill?"
Harry Danton made an effort to raise, but fell back on the pillow.
"My head aches as if it would split open, and I feel as if I had a ton-weight bearing down every limb. I think I am going to have the fever."